Transformers Prime: Tempest, Vol I
by Lung Tien Lien
Summary: A Prime hesitant to lead, an Air Commander whose loyalties and desires become even more uncertain, a failed spy desperately seeking absolution, and a maimed Seeker femme whose quest for vengeance threatens to consume her future... They are, all four, entangled in a breaking storm of fear, malice, and forlorn hope - one that will eventually decide the fate of two worlds.
1. Prologue

_**Transformers Prime**_

**Tempest**

**-Prologue-**

**I don't own **_**TFP**_**. Reviews are appreciated.**

_How many groons* have I been walking? Ugh, if I can find a working transport shuttle and never have to see this Primus-forsaken planet ever again, it will be all too soon._

Swearing bitterly under her breath, the femme stumble-slid through the mud and leaf-litter beneath her feet. The filthy mess wormed its way beneath her armor and stuck between some of her outer wires, bringing forth stronger and stronger itches with each step. Oh, how she yearned to somehow stumble upon shelter befitting Cybertronians, one with a fully working sterilization chamber and clean berth - a _roof _at least, for Primus'-sake - and set camp for the remainder of the night. But, no. In this thick, gloomy, dank, and thoroughly abandoned mountain forest filled to the brim with trees, rocks, and mud, not a hint of what the femme would call "civilization" was to be found.

Besides, she couldn't stop. Not now. Not when a tenaciously hunting Predacon may or may not be on her trail, alert for any sign of her tracks - or worse, her outline under the forest branches. She couldn't even transform and try to put some decent distance between herself and the winged demon. No, she had to walk, step by step, suppress her energy signature as much as possible, and hope to whoever felt kind enough to listen that the rain subdued the scent of her energon, the electricity in the atmosphere was enough to impede the Predacon's sensors, and that no pairs of bright yellow optics could single her out from the surrounding trees.

Above, a plume of lightning tore across the black sky and ripped blinding cracks through the clouds. Booming thunder that shook the very ground followed not a second later, and the femme found herself nearly deafened by the sound. Stopping for just a moment, she waited for the great roar to trickle into a rumble before pressing onward. However, her feet still could not find safe purchase and she continued to slip in the treacherous mud. One particular misstep turned into a jarring tumble into a tree, and she cursed again. Forcing herself to stand, she took her anger out on the silent, hapless evergreen in question by slashing four deep gouges into its bark with her talons.

The femme couldn't even begin to describe how much she'd recently begun to _hate _the planet Earth with a white-hot passion. Even though the root of her problems did not begin here, things certainly seemed to have become much, much worse since her near-crash-landing and subsequent capture by those blasted Decepticons. At first, she thought she could handle these misfortunes as she'd handled all others in the past: by staring her problems in their faces and fighting toe-to-toe against them until they submitted to her will or simply let her be.

This time, though, she'd been wrong - _horrendously_ wrong - and now she'd been left, literally, outside in the rain, alone with nothing but the consequences of her pretentious and foolish line of thinking to keep her company.

As if some greater power sensed the thought, a sharp pain in her abdomen forced the femme to her knee-joints. Reflexively, she grabbed at the armor plating there with rain-drenched servos*, clutching desperately at the slowly shifting metal until the aching ebbed enough to let her stand.

_Frag it all! I knew I was close, but _now_? Of all the times it could've fragging picked...!_

But considering the ever-looming Predacon threat, the storm raging above, and the circumstances that left the femme stranded in this unwelcoming patch of forest, why should fate choose to be kind _now_?

_'Anything that can go wrong, will.' What did the humans call it? 'Murphy's Law?' Tch. It's good to know this accursed slab of a planet has a Pit-spawned _name _for consistent stretches of bad luck._

The femme spat and then smirked in selfish delight when a large bird started from some nearby leaves. Of course, the smirk was cut short as another jab of pain, this one stronger than the last, hit the femme in her midriff. This time, she twisted her body so a wide tree caught her in mid-fall, the thing acting as a sturdy brace that she dug her claws into until she could keep moving.

_Frag this forest, this sorry bit of rock, and everything else! I can barely move, barely keep my energy suppressed, and I feel absolutely pathetic - and I bet I look even worse! _

And while lightly dragging her claws across her abdominal plating, the femme sent an extra curse to the as-of-yet unborn Sparkling whose progressing birth kept her grounded and caused all these pains.

She'd never liked Sparklings, never saw the charm so many others of her kind insisted the little creatures had, not even when the Well of All Sparks went dark and stopped producing Cybertronians. In the femme's eyes, Sparklings were unnecessary burdens, starting out as little more than animals that became intelligent and independent _far _too slowly and also required _far_ too much effort to raise. Thus, she'd never wanted one of her own and, instead, desired to keep to her carefree and (so-to-speak) freewheeling lifestyle - a lifestyle thrown into disarray thanks to the feuding of the Autobots and the Decepticons.

_To the Pit with all of them - Autobots and Decepticons both! They can rust into nothing for how much I care, and that includes this Sparkling's fragging sire! I hope I personally get to see him sent to the scrap-heap!_

The femme felt a troublesome emotion twinge in her spark, but she ignored it with a stalwart resolution. She'd learned all too late that no emotions served her and her purposes well other than hatred and mistrust. The hate gave the femme something to anchor her mind to, something to fuel her determination, while the mistrust kept her on her toes and (for the most part) out of harm's way. If she set her bars of expectations low, she was never disappointed or surprised, at least not for long. Faith, camaraderie... Those were pieces of scrap reserved for blind idealists - or those few and far between who had the extraordinary luck of being within Primus' full favor.

_I used to know what that was like, back before the war, back before they took my sister, my_ home_._

Thinking on her sister, the femme's distaste for the tiny being she carried grew. She suddenly wished to get rid of it, to plunge her talons deep into her innermost circuitry and rip the accursed, bastardized little hindrance from its haven and...!

_Defenseless. Innocent. _The words popped, unbidden, into the femme's head, and she found herself unable - perhaps even _unwilling_ - to act on her violent urges. A feeling akin to shame flew through her processor, and immediately afterwards she experienced a familiar feeling of..._ 'Void' _was the only term the femme could find to describe the sense of potentially overwhelming emptiness ghosting about her spark.

_Not again. Never again._

Besides, she'd be no better than the Sparkling's sire if she did something like that. For all she despised him...

Then, the femme's audio-receptors picked up a sound made nigh imperceptible by the roaring of the storm: the sound of a pair of large wings beating against the wind. Spooked, the femme froze in her tracks, but, fortunately, her processor remained on high alert. On borderline instinct, she shrank beneath the leafy boughs of two adjacent trees and made her body as small as she could. She came to rest at the bottom of one trunk, her back pressed against its wet, rough bark. Claustrophobia almost overcame the femme as her wings were pinned between her back and the tree, but both her fright and the strong wish to remain hidden prevented her from moving or making any noise. Instead, she simply listened.

The wing-beats seemed to come from a fairly considerable height above the forest canopy, and for a few tense nano-kliks*, they remained at that distance. Paying careful attention to their pattern between the storm's cacophony, the femme received an impression of _circling_.

Her dental plates were aching, she clenched them so hard. Had the Predacon spotted her for sure? Was the circling simply its way of preparing to stoop? Or was it scouting the area, knowing the trail but unsure about its prey's actual location?

It was the most inopportune moment for another birthing pang to come on, one that not only pierced but also squeezed and burned. It took everything the femme had to bite back a yelp of shock and anguish and keep her energy signature suppressed, the cables in her neck and rotator cups* close to locking up with the strain. The Sparkling was coming without a doubt, and every nano-klik she spent away from shelter was a nano-klik closer to giving birth in the elements. Then, left weak and helpless and with a squalling newborn, it would probably be just a matter of time before they were both caught and taken back to Darkmount.

But the femme dared not move, not while she could still hear the Predacon's beating wings.

In the next instant, the beating came to a halt, and then she heard leaves tremble and twigs creak as a large shape swooped over them. The Predacon made a pass from the part of the forest on the femme's left, was directly overhead for an instant - its reptilian shape outlined against the canopy by another flash of lightning - and then re-ascended somewhere to the right. Up in the sky, it appeared to continue its circling.

The femme couldn't resist letting out a tiny sigh of relief. So her pursuer _didn't _know exactly where she was; that, at least, brought a bit of comfort. Still, she wasn't safe yet and became quickly reminded when the Predacon made a second pass, this time from the right.

A terrifying thought struck the femme when the Predacon made its third pass from the direction she faced.

_It's trying to flush me out. It can't find me by normal means, so it's trying to frighten me into revealing myself._

Was it too much to ask that it, somehow, didn't intent to use its fire cannon for added effect? Or that is was too windy and raining too hard for the weapon to be of much use? Either would do, really. Nevertheless, the femme, ignoring the sense of entrapment in her wings, all but made herself one with the tree behind her and curled into the tightest ball of armor and wiring she could manage.

And then came fourth birthing pain, accompanied by the excruciating sensation of her abdominal plating being forced apart in a way it was completely unused to. The femme kicked out in reflex, and this motion pulled her body from its position against the tree and she went down into the mud. Every profanity she knew slipped out between her gritted dental plates as she tried to rise, but it suddenly felt as if all the strength left her limbs. They each gave out beneath her at the same instant, and she crumpled onto her side. Within nano-kliks, her contracting midriff forced her to roll onto her back, where she stayed.

The femme's time was upon her - she could feel the small protoform shifting into position. In a few cycles, Earth's first Sparkling would be born.

Amidst the agony, anger, and fear, the femme barely registered the warm wetness of lubricant seeping from her optics down her face-plate. She burrowed her talons deep into the mud and leaves.

_I hate this planet!_

The femme gathered up a glop of slime into her right servo, and then slammed it all back into the ground. Another bolt of lightning streaked from cloud to cloud.

_I hate the Decepticons!_

The resulting thunder sounded eerily similar to a Predacon's roar.

_I hate the Autobots! I hate the humans! I hate the Predacons! I hate this storm! I hate my sister, and Megatron, and Optimus fragging Prime! I hate...! I hate...!_

As the femme gave birth to her unwanted Sparkling and waited for the Predacon to pluck her from the forest, she felt completely and utterly alone.

**End "Prologue"**

***Glossary**

**- "Groon": the Cybertronian equivalent of about six hours**

**- "Servo": the "hands" of a Cybertronian**

**- "Nano-klik": the Cybertronian equivalent of about a second**

**- "Rotator Cups": the "shoulders" of a Cybertronian**


	2. The Prisoner of Darkmount

_**Transformers Prime**_

**Tempest**

**-Chapter 1: The Prisoner of Darkmount-**

**(Disclaimer: I don't own **_**TFP**_**. Reviews are appreciated. This chapter was conceptualized and written before the airing of **_**Rebellion**_**. Organizational Notes: '0000' denotes a scene change, while '/' marks a switch in point-of-view.)**

Leaving a snarling and nigh frothing femme behind them, the two Vehicons posted as guards to Darkmount's containment cells were more than glad to hear the sound of metal doors shutting behind them.

"That fragging glitch! She nearly bit one of my digits* off!" said the first, flexing his injured servo.

"Oh, you think you've got it bad? With all her blasted screeching, my left audio-receptor* has stopped working! I'm only getting snippets of static from it now..." the second grumbled, gently fiddling with the broken piece of tech inside his helm.

"Did you not hear me? I nearly lost one of my _digits_ in there! You'd think she was part Insecticon or Predacon the way she latched onto it - it _hurt_ like the Pit!" Almost as an afterthought, he humbled, "She certainly has a face-plate ugly enough to be an Insecticon."

"I heard you just fine, but I would've heard better if one of my_ audio-receptors _wasn't_ broken_. By Primus, that femme can reach higher and more ragged pitches than Commander Starscream. I didn't think such a feat was possible."

"I'll say. You think that they'll rip her voice-box out and just interrogate her with the Cortical Psychic Patch?"

"I hope that's the _least _they'll do to her, but they'll need to break more than her voice-box to keep her quiet. Shockwave will need to invent some kind of Cortical Psychic Muzzle if he doesn't want her screaming him into the Allspark from inside her processor."

The first Vehicon shuddered. "Now there's a fate worse than death. We only thought Dreadwing and Breakdown got it bad..."

Cuffing his partner over the helm, the second Vehicon said, "If you speak out loud, you'd better keep in mind to be more respectful about certain members of our dead." Then, in a voice so low the other mech could barely hear it, he muttered, "At least _they_ didn't treat us like we're nothing more than expendable drones."

The first Vehicon nodded in agreement. "You said it, ST-3V3. You said it."

0000

From his position on the highest point of Darkmount, Megatron listened to Soundwave's recording of the two Vehicon guards. When it finished, the lord of the Decepticons merely snorted.

"Ungrateful piles of scrap, aren't they? Oh, well; it doesn't really matter. I'll think of some sort of appropriate punishment for their insubordination later."

Turning, Megatron paced a little distance away from his throne, stopping when he reached the center of the area.

"So, Soundwave. It would seem we have, as the humans would say, quite a spitfire on our hands. And she's an Autobot-sympathizing Seeker to boot." The large mech then turned to face his communications' officer. "This situation has the potential to grant us considerable windfall."

Soundwave merely nodded, saying nothing. However, before Megatron could begin speaking again, the sound of approaching jet thrusters reached both his and Soundwave's hearing. From the southeast quadrant of the Decepticons' newly conquered territory, Starscream swooped in, transforming in mid-air and landing with ease on Darkmount's peak.

"You sent for me, Master?"

Starscream gave Megatron a bow, waiting in silence as the much other mech approached.

"Ah, Starscream. Perfect timing. I was just discussing the state of our newest prisoner with Soundwave, and I believe she would be of some interest to you."

Megatron strode slightly past his lieutenant before halting again, directing his attention to a hologram that now floated before them - courtesy of Soundwave and Darkmount's technology. On the screen was an image in real-time that showed a full picture of the green, battered and scratched femme who now resided in the containment ward. She threw her body wildly against the restraints that held her, shaking her head back and forth while howling like some maddened Earth-beast. Her wings, pinned solidly by a clamp, fluttered in a sign of extreme stress and agitation.

"Quite a piece of work, isn't she? One of the Vehicons sent to interrogate her nearly had part of his servo bitten off, and she ruined an audio-receptor of the other with that Pit-spawned racket she's making. Needless to say, we have not yet drawn much information out of her."

As if in great thought, the Decepticon lord put one servo to his chin.

"The Vehicons suggested that Shockwave should handle this with a simple use of the Cortical Psychic Patch, but I'm not so sure we'll need to take that route at the moment. You're a much greater expert on Seeker anatomy and psychology than he is in any case. That's why I sent for you. How about it? Do you think that you could 'convince' her to speak her mind - intelligibly?"

Starscream's optics, filled with a certain amount of surprise, remained glued to the holographic image, watching each movement the femme Seeker made as she struggled to free herself. Specifically, the Air Commander's attention was focused on the four long scars that marred and twisted her face-plate.

Megatron noticed his Second-in-Command's interest and allowed himself a small smile.

"Lost in thought, Starscream? Mulling over the best methods to...twist her into talking?"

"Ah - yes, Lord Megatron," Starscream replied, startled from his train of thought. However, his surprise quickly faded into distaste and then malicious glee at the opportunity that was now being presented to him. With a sinister grin, the Air Commander said, "As it happens, I do believe that I can get this one to say a few words."

Megatron nodded in amused approval.

"Very well, Starscream. I look forward to the results. You may make your way down to the containment area when you are ready."

Of course, 'when you are ready' truly meant 'preferably at this moment' with Megatron, and with another bow, Starscream turned to make his way down to the femme Seeker's cell. As he entered Darkmount's lift and began riding down, his thoughts on his new plaything were invariably mixed.

_It's definitely been a while since the two of us last saw each other. From the sound of it, she seems to have the same reckless, stubborn, and downright nasty personality she had before._

Starscream chortled to himself.

_It will be fun trying to break her again, I think. If nothing else, I can add a matching set of scars to the ones she already possesses..._

0000

In the cell, Serenade screamed and thrashed against her restraints with almost senseless abandon. However, no matter how much her wrists, ankles, wings, and voice-box now hurt, she continued her struggles in a desperate attempt to somehow break free.

_If only I really _had _taken that fragging Decepticon's digit off. At least I'd have the satisfaction._

The femme then contorted herself in a half-twisting position, and she used the (admittedly painful) leverage to try and pull her servos from their manacles. Unfortunately, the bonds continued to stand firm against her, and she was eventually forced out of the posture due to fatigue.

_To the Pit with those Decepticons! To the Pit with them all! They can't hold me here, and once I'm out, they'll be sorry that they laid their disgusting servos on me!_

Serenade's deepened her already profound grimace, feeling the deep slashes across her face all the while.

_And once I'm done here, I'll go and see if I can't execute some Autobots. Blasted death merchants, all of them!_

Out of the corner of her one good optic, Serenade's older sister slowly shook her white helm*.

"That is not the way to handle things," she said, her tone filled with grief. "Taking your anger out on the Autobots will not help anyone."

"Don't try to make _me _the enemy here, Blister! They're just as much at fault for destroying our home as the Decepticons, and they need to answer for that!" The green femme imagined Optimus Prime standing before her, and she sent the figure a glare filled with unadulterated hate. "I _will _make them answer for that!"

The other femme did not reply, and Serenade resumed her fight. Suddenly, the doors to her cell unlocked and swung open for the second time that day, and through them came a tall, slender, and overall lanky Seeker who held an Energon-prod.

The realization of his identity was almost immediate.

_"Starscream..."_

The word seeped through Serenade's denta and off her glossa like a regurgitated toxin. Beside her, Blister let out a terrified gasp and shrunk back.

Looking down upon the infuriated femme, Starscream merely smirked and said, "It's been a while. Come back for more, Serenade?"

/

The Decepticon Air Commander chuckled at Serenade's expression, which was a twisted, partially mutilated mask of loathing. The dim light of the cell shone dully off of her green armor, but this seemed to highlight each scratch and dent that she bore.

Serenade narrowed her single optic.

"Go leap into a smelter*," she growled.

"Hah. How I've missed your delightfully witty comebacks. It's not often we get prisoners who know how to make amusing conversation."

Starscream watched the femme flex her talons.

"Why don't you release me from these manacles? Then I'll show you just how _amusing _I can really be. Just to show my gratitude for the treatment you gave me back on Cybertron, I'll wreak some _amusement_ straight on your spark."

Despite the femme's murderous tone, Starscream was hardly fazed. Twirling the Energon-prod in his servos, he replied, "You know, that kind of threat _would _be intimidating if you were, well, intimidating. However, a femme as _defaced _as you has a long way to go before I would ever feel faint-sparked in your presence."

Serenade made as if to leap at him from where she kneeled.

"Why you spawn of a - !"

She was cut off when Starscream slammed the prod into her breastplate, letting out a pained grunt before falling to the floor. With that, Starscream stamped a firm pede* down onto Serenade's helm, holding her in place.

_Ah. This feels just like back then._ In an echo to his thoughts, Starscream ground his heel into one of Serenade's scars.

He took immense joy in the half-strangled yelp that she bit back.

"As much as I'd love to continue listening to your honeyed words, there are a few things I need you to tell me. Specifically, I'd like to know any information you might have pertaining to the Autobots."

Starscream let off some of the pressure from his heel, but only enough to let his little toy speak.

_Oh, how I'm going to _relish _our time together._

/

Even though the psychopathic Decepticon let up a bit off of her helm, Serenade could still hardly move it, and with her one good optic being pressed into the floor, she could not see particularly well either. But she was not going to give her tormenter the gratification of seeing her squirm.

_By Primus, as well as Blister's spark and my own, the very first bot that I rip to pieces will be you, 'Commander.'_

However, the femme did not voice this thought. In fact, she momentarily contemplated not saying anything; if Starscream wanted her to talk, he'd have to pull the words from her very voice-box.

_Then again, he wants me to say my piece on what I know of the Autobots... _

"Be careful, Serenade," Blister breathed.

Serenade let out a bitter laugh.

"Fine, Starscream. I'll humor you. You want to know what I know about the Autobots? Well, here it is. I know they're a bunch of bleeding-heart, incompetent warmongers led by an even more incompetent Prime, and the conflict they helped to start led to the destruction of Cybertron. So, they're essentially the same as you Decepticons, except," the green femme then snickered, "the fumes from _their _scum-covered pedes never came close to clogging up my intake valves*."

In spite of the Energon-prod once again striking her breastplate, Serenade continued to giggle at her little joke. Two could play at the personal insult game - 'delightfully witty comebacks,' indeed.

"I _won't _ask again," Starscream ground out, his heel once again digging into the topmost scar across the femme's helm. "You were the only survivor of that derelict Autobot refugee ship; there's no one else who can spare you from me. So, tell me what I want to know, or this situation will become all the worse for you."

Serenade felt Starscream shift, and mere seconds later a blazing pain erupted in her left wing-joint. The pain only intensified as the Air Commander wriggled his claws around in the wounds, and a yowl managed to escape from the femme. Off to the side, Blister gave a cry of alarm, but there was nothing she could do to aid her younger sibling. Her image began to waver in Serenade's optic as the agony continued, but Starscream removed his talons before the green Seeker completely lost the ability to see.

"That was merely a taste of the suffering I have planned for you, should you choose to continue mocking me." There was a smile in the Decepticon's voice again. "I don't know if _you _know this, but I am, in fact, capable of being merciful, unlike some of my colleagues who might be sent in later. Just give me the information I ask for, and this entire episode of ours will end - I will take my Energon-prod and be on my merry way."

Starscream sounded almost sincere, but Serenade was not fooled in the least. She'd seen his true colors long ago. Even if he stood by his words and left once she answered his questions - though these answers would all be lies, for Serenade knew nothing about the current position(s) or plan(s) of the Autobots - Starscream would undoubtedly come back to exercise his sadism just because he _could_.

_On her back, pinned..._

_Wing, arms, and legs were all broken..._

_Something that would seem light bore down upon her with a terrible weight..._

_She thought she could hear Blister wailing in the distance..._

Quickly, Serenade shook herself from the memory and returned to the present. The green femme then took the time to let the pain from her breastplate, wing, and scars wash through her, and this gave her the strength to fill herself with defiance.

_No. I have survived up to this point with greater wounds than this, and no one, not Starscream nor Megatron himself, will ever break me._

The defiance that Serenade felt drifted into her voice when she spoke again.

"Oh, this 'episode of ours' will definitely end, Starscream - when I have my servos around your accursed spark and hold the very fate of your existence in my grasp. Then, we'll see who is capable of inflicting the greatest suffering. So, come at me with the very worst in your arsenal - I _will _survive it, and you will rue the cycle* in which you heard my name."

Starscream growled, but this sound soon turned into a dark laugh.

"Fine, then. We'll do this _your _way."

With a smirk, Starscream thrust the Energon-prod into the open wounds on Serenade's wing-joint.

**End "The Prisoner of Darkmount"**

***Glossary**

**- "Digit": a Cybertronian "finger"**

**- "Audio-Receptor": a Cybertronian "ear"**

**- "Helm": a Cybertronian "head"**

**- "Smelter": a place where scrap metal and sometimes Cybertronians are taken to be melted down**

**- "Pede": a Cybertronian "foot"**

**- "Intake Valves": a Cybertronian "lung"**

**- "Cycle": the Cybertronian equivalent of approximately 1.25 Earth-hours**


End file.
